


Q Branch Gloves

by helens78



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fisting, Gloves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-22
Updated: 2003-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q Branch gloves are soft and thin and made of something that's maybe leather, maybe not. It's so hard to tell. But it smells like leather, tastes like leather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q Branch Gloves

Q Branch gloves are soft and thin and made of something that's maybe leather, maybe not. It's so hard to tell. But it smells like leather, tastes like leather. Feels like leather on Alec's cock, when he's done with his work for the day and resting in his hotel room.

The gloves are seamless. Q Branch again. Alec doesn't know how it's possible, so maybe they're not leather, or maybe Q is more devious than Alec gives him credit for. They're as tight as latex, feel almost as thin as latex, but they're soft, and they don't tear, and they don't feel as if they're going to choke off his blood. He could wear these gloves all day. Could wear them all night.

He's done it before, on occasion.

James is much more limber than Alec gives him credit for. Of course, it's part of the job. And being up in a sling isn't anything near as difficult as some of the things they've had to do. They had to crawl through a pipe once, something only three feet wide, and there were ninety-degree bends that neither one of them knew they could manage with a full load of equipment on. They made it through that.

But James looks good in the sling. Very good. He's gone silent, the way he would if someone had him here in a sling and he _didn't_ happen to be a friend. Compatriot. Lover.

Alec dips his fingers into the tub of lube and slicks the leather of his glove, watching it gleam in the dim light of the room. There are candles on the shelves, on the nightstands. Some of them are the sort that can be used to drip wax on skin. Some of them go one step better and stay liquid once they've been dripped on the body, and they work wonders for massage. Alec likes having those dripped all over him. James doesn't care for them as much. Says they don't hurt enough. Alec indulges him with black candles. Likes the way they make James bite down and growl out his pain. Everyone gets what he wants.

Alec's other hand comes down James's chest and tangles in the hairs at the base of his cock. He doesn't ask James if he's ready. He knows the answer is "yes", and that right behind that "yes" there's a "no" waiting to happen. It doesn't matter.

There's enough lube on his glove now to get started. He slides two fingers in, feeling the way the slight movement sends James backward a fraction of an inch in the sling. His grip on the short hairs above James's cock tightens, and James tenses for a moment, his fingers clenching hard around the chain, before letting a breath out between his teeth. His eyes are focused on the ceiling.

Alec lets the grip loosen just a touch. He withdraws his fingers, takes up more lube, pushes in four. James isn't stretched enough for it. It'll hurt like hell. But he can take it. He's taken more than this. He _will_ take more than this, and not too long from now.

Alec breathes quietly as he feels James tense around him, let up, tense a little more. The squeeze of James's muscles is always just this side of torture, hard for both of them, good for both. He looks down at James, at the way the candlelight flickers and brings up shadows on his skin. Beautiful.

James still isn't looking at him. And that's frustrating. Alec can never quite read James's eyes, but having them focused away is a signal that James doesn't even want him to try. And they're closer than this. They've spent more time together than either one of them has ever spent with another 00 agent. They've been working together for over a decade. Friends for nearly that long. Lovers since James came back to the safehouse with a gash across his back and Alec got so hard thinking about licking the blood clean from it that James could smell it all over him.

Alec's grip on James's short hairs tightens again, and he pushes forward with his gloved hand, pulls tight with the other. James is staying here. Staying right here, under Alec's touch, until Alec is finished with him. He's not going anywhere, not even into the deeper reaches of his own thoughts.

Another rough push. Too rough, too fast, and James grunts, letting the noise escape him and not trying to hold it back. Alec rewards him with another sharp tug of those hairs and then a loosening of his grip. Pain and the space to appreciate it after. James loves that. Alec loves giving it to him.

Alec is in to his knuckles now, and he tucks his thumb in, ready to push again. This time it's not so hard. Not so fast. He's moving in with purpose. The tiny rocking movements push James away, and the equal-and-opposite reaction for each of them brings him back. He's settling over Alec's hand, settling just as much as Alec's hand is stretching him and opening him.

And then James stops breathing. The resistance becomes acceptance. Alec lets James take him in to the wrist, and feels James clench tight. He runs his other hand up James's chest, scratching over his nipple, pinching it hard.

"Please," James whispers. He starts breathing again, and Alec can hear the whisper of air between his lips now. He can feel James's heartbeat. He curls his hand up, and he starts rocking his fist forward, achingly slow with his movements.

_Please._ It's such a pretty word coming off James's lips. Alec loves hearing it, but he doesn't like to ask for it. He won't tell James to beg. It doesn't mean as much, somehow, if he has to order it.

He wonders what it would be like if he could hear _please_ from James under other circumstances. If he could make James beg, not for more, but for forgiveness. James is a betrayer. They're all betrayers. James would do anything for Her Majesty's Secret Service. He'd do anything for England, even slaughter the innocent and pile them unconscious and bleeding into trucks, sending them off to their death--

"--_please_," James whispers, "please, Alec."

Alec swallows and runs his hand down from James's chest to his hip, and he holds tight. "All right, James," he murmurs, voice even. "Come when you can."

And the rocking movements pick up. A little harder. A little faster. Alec looks down between James's legs and sees black against white skin, and the contrast makes his breath catch. The leather is perfect for this. It's carrying all the warmth of his skin into James's body, carrying all the warmth of James's body into his hand. He rocks in harder. A little harder. Only as much as he knows James can take.

James lets out a soft, breathless moan, and comes, body shaking, muscles tightening around Alec's wrist until Alec, too, cries out softly. He waits until it's over, and then starts working his hand free, listening to the rapid pattern of James's breathing.

He gets James out of the sling. Another man would be all but collapsed now. Not James. Never James. Alec wonders sometimes if James is immortal. He's seen James broken, bleeding, bruised, but he's never seen James in any danger of not being able to get where he wants to go. When James breaks, it's because he's chosen to.

_Someday it won't be that easy,_ Alec promises. He turns to the nightstand, gets the damp towel. Cleans off his glove, meticulously, while James goes to his knees, still panting softly. Q Branch leather. It cleans off easily, doesn't stain, doesn't stay sticky, doesn't hold dirt or scent for long. That part's almost a shame. The musk of sex, the smell of sweat, those would be welcome things sometimes. Alec could come all over his glove, rub the come into the leather, and then cover James's mouth with it while fucking him hard from behind. That'd be a lovely afternoon. But the scent won't stay on the leather for that long. Sometimes Q is _too_ efficient.

Alec turns back to James and tilts James's head up with the crook of one finger. He slides his hand down and takes James's throat in it, squeezing lightly, the glove providing such a beautiful contrast to James's skin. So beautiful, and Alec could just squeeze, keep squeezing, until all the rage from his past, all the suffering his father faced, his mother, until everything is channeled out and James's windpipe crushes under his hand, leaving James to choke and struggle uselessly for air...

Or not. James is looking into Alec's eyes, and there's something in that fathomless blue gaze that tells Alec there is no real trust here. No blind faith. Whatever else they are, they are spies, men trained in the art of deceit. There are lies they tell each other, even here where the room smells of lust and sex and sweat.

Alec's grip goes loose.

"Please," James whispers, and he reaches up for the fly of Alec's trousers.

Alec lets him, lets James free his cock and sink down on it, lets James choke himself and cups the back of James's neck in his hand. It's almost as good, James begging because he wants more. Almost good enough.

James has such a mouth on him. It's so good. The strokes of his tongue set Alec to shivering in moments, and though he could hold back, make James work for it, he's ready to end this scene. He pulls away and wraps his gloved hand around his cock, feeling the leather drag across his skin. That's all it takes. With a sharp hiss of breath, Alec comes, letting the jets streak across his glove, across James's cheeks. James opens his mouth, tongue drawn out to catch the last drops as Alec works them out, and when it's over, he starts cleaning his face with his fingers, sucking Alec's come from them.

"I should have made you ask first," Alec pants. "Should have made you beg for it before letting you clean yourself."

"You're not one for dirty tricks like that, Alec," James retorts. He smirks and reaches for Alec's glove. "I want this, too."

Alec pulls back. "And who says you get that?" He lifts his glove to his own mouth and takes tiny, catlike licks, tasting come and soft, warm leather.

James stays on his knees, and Alec can tell he's struggling with his choices. "Please," he mutters, finally. "Let me do that for you, Alec."

"Why?" Another soft lick; another spot of come gone, out of James's reach.

"Because I want to take that glove in again," James whispers.

Alec shudders, and he nods, bringing his hand back down to the level of James's mouth. James licks at it, fast sharp licks, one after another, in much the same way he does it when Alec has him on the ground, belly pressed to the floor, and Alec's gripping James's hair and forcing his mouth onto his boots. James is just as hungry as he is then; a little more, maybe. Alec resolves to remind James of this amount of hunger the next time his belly's on the floor.

When it's done, James folds Alec's fingers back into a fist, almost reverently. And Alec thinks, _It would be so easy..._

So easy to drive this fist into James's face. Straight into the nose, breaking it, and then following with hard kicks, more blows, a rain of them that does nothing to wash away the taint of being here, working for the murderers that made him an orphan and then took him into their fold.

No. There's no point. Alec takes his hand away and strips the glove off, dropping it carelessly to the ground. "Good boy, James," he says, ruffling fingers through James's hair.

Sometimes that irritates James; Alec doesn't know whether he hopes this is one of those times or not. It isn't, though, and James simply comes to his feet and wraps his arms around Alec's neck.

"Come to bed," he murmurs. "We have a long plane flight ahead of us in the morning."

Alec nods and lets James undress him, sighing as James rolls him under the covers. He pushes James onto his side, facing away from him, and then spoons up behind him, resting his face against James's shoulder.

James takes Alec's hand and settles it against his chest. They don't need to speak; don't need to wish each other a good night. Alec tightens his grip on James, settles in a bit more comfortably, and finally closes his eyes. If he dreams at all tonight, it'll be dreams of black leather against James's skin. And whichever way the dreams come, whether they have James begging for more or begging for mercy, they'll be good dreams.

_-end-_


End file.
